The Third Apprentice Page 10

  Standing and stretching his back, he thanked the apothecary, who had not taken his eyes off the mage since he entered the shop. Making his way down the wooden steps, he walked up the road to the tavern where he intended to meet Zamna. The La’kertan was seated at the bar, a mug held high in his hand. Loud music was playing, courtesy of a five-man band on the stage. The tavern was packed with people enjoying the evening entertainment.

  Zamna lifted his mug to his companion as he entered the common room. Taren climbed onto the high stool next to the La’kertan and looked around the room. They were the only two people who appeared foreign to this land. Everyone else had the same ash-colored skin and black hair of the people they had already encountered. If this city saw its fair share of foreigners, it must be at a different time of year.

  “The food here is good,” Zamna remarked. “You should get something to eat.” He banged a hand against the counter to summon the bartender. “Meat!” he called as the man looked his direction.

  With a nod, the barman disappeared behind a door, reappearing moments later with a large bone covered with meat. Taren accepted it graciously, looking it over only after the bartender walked away.

  “What sort of animal is this?” Taren asked after smelling the unusual meat. It did not remind him of anything he had eaten before.

  “A tasty one,” Zamna replied, barely listening. His attention was focused on the stage, where two ladies were now dancing.

  Taren bit into the meat and found it to be rather sweet. Its wild taste was unfamiliar, but Zamna was correct in his description. It was savory and satisfying to the mage’s palate. The barman returned with a mug of ale, which Taren gulped greedily. It had a rich flavor that the young man found appealing. Before he knew it, he had drunk three mugs full of the golden liquid.

  Zamna nodded approvingly at the young mage’s ability to drink. The music went late into the night, the guests chiming in with tunes of their own. Finally, the bartender called out that the tavern was closing for the night. The musicians packed up their instruments and headed for the door.

  Taren and Zamna had neglected to secure a room for the night. When pulling himself to his feet, the room spun around, forcing Taren to sit down once again.

  “We need a room for the night,” Zamna said. “Two if you have them.”

  “We’re full up,” the barman replied. “You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “Where else is there?” Zamna asked.

  “You can try the inn two streets over,” he replied.

  With a nod, Zamna helped his companion from his stool, squeezing his arm tightly to steady him. The pair stumbled out of the tavern, both laughing at their predicament.

  Taren proved a poor navigator when intoxicated. After crossing two streets, he insisted they had not gone far enough to begin their search for the inn. Zamna knew better and led the inebriated mage in the correct direction. The pair stepped inside, only to be told that the inn was closing.

  “Do you have any rooms for the night?” Zamna asked.

  “All full,” the woman replied unsympathetically.

  They stepped back out onto the street, and Taren rummaged in his bag for something to counteract the effects of the alcohol he had consumed. Though his vision was poor, and the world seemed blurry, he managed to find the one he was looking for. His head felt much clearer within seconds of downing the blue liquid.

  On a board outside the door, a poster displayed the image of a man with deep-set eyes. It offered a large reward in exchange for the man’s death. Retrieving the poster from the wall, Zamna studied the face of the wanted man. “This man was in the tavern,” he said. “I could claim the reward.”

  “You’d have to kill him,” Taren said, coming to his side. “Why would you want to do that? He’s done you no wrong.”

  “Apparently he’s done someone wrong,” Zamna pointed out. “With this posted so prominently, it must be no crime in killing him.”

  “I want no part of this,” Taren declared. It went against everything he had been taught to take a person’s life unnecessarily. No matter this man’s crime, he would have nothing to do with killing him. In his mind, there were better ways of punishing criminals.

  “This is a massive reward,” Zamna said, holding the poster out. “Fifty gold pieces!”

  “Surely the tomb will have more treasure than that,” Taren said, attempting to change the assassin’s mind. Perhaps it was impossible to persuade a killer not to kill, but he had to try.

  “The tomb may have been raided centuries ago,” Zamna replied. “I might come away empty-handed. At least this way I’m assured some gold.”

  “It isn’t safe,” Taren said. “We know nothing of this land.” The last thing he wanted was for Zamna to put himself in danger.

  Zamna seemed unconvinced, so Taren tried again. “If this man was easy to catch, someone else would have done it by now. Like you said, that’s a substantial reward.”

  Zamna hissed with laughter. “Maybe there’s no one around here with the skills I possess.” He stood confidently, convinced that he would easily be able to finish the job.

  “Don’t do this, Zamna,” Taren said, failing to find better words.

  Zamna shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not asking you to help. I’ll take care of this on my own, and we can meet up again in the morning.”

  Taren sighed, wishing he had better skills as a negotiator. “Why don’t we wait until the return journey?” Taren asked. “There could be treasure enough to last you a lifetime in that tomb. If we find it empty, we can return here for you to claim the bounty.” It was Taren’s last attempt. He was fresh out of ideas to convince his companion not to act.

  “By the time we get to the tomb and back, someone else will have done the job,” Zamna replied. “I’ve made up my mind. Meet me at sunrise near the city’s southern border. We will continue our journey together, and I will be fifty gold pieces heavier.” He flashed his pointed teeth at his companion and disappeared into the night.

  Taren waited a moment, hoping the La’kertan would change his mind and return. Finally accepting that Zamna was determined to carry on with his plans, he made his way down the road to look for another inn. There were few lights to illuminate the city at this hour. Most of the inhabitants had already bedded down for the night. There were too many roads and too many buildings and not enough people to ask for directions.

  Taren followed the only light he could see in the distance. A single lantern swung slightly from a nail affixed to the side of a barn. A man sat inside, a bottle in his hand.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Taren said. “I’m looking for a place to spend the night.”

  “Inns are probably full,” the man replied with a hiccup. “You can sleep right here on the hay for a copper.”

  Wonderful, Taren thought. But it was better than nothing, and at least there would be a roof over his head should it begin to rain. Flipping the coin to the man, he unrolled his bed and laid it on the soft hay, a good distance away from the large pile of manure stacked in the corner. Unfortunately, he could not escape the smell. It permeated his nose and pierced his sinuses, making it difficult to sleep. His mind wandered to thoughts of Zamna and whether he had made the right decision in allowing him to go off on his own. He could not be a party to murder, but Zamna was a loyal friend. He regretted not standing at his side, but he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if he took part in killing a man for money.

  Clouds filled the night sky, blocking out any light from the moon and stars above. No sounds could be heard throughout the city, at least not from Taren’s location. Somewhere in the night, a man was about to lose his life, and Taren had failed to stop it. Though he would not be physically present, he still felt a degree of guilt. How the La’kertan could kill without a thought and never look back was beyond him. Visions of a weeping family and fatherless children filled the mage’s head and invaded his dreams. Restless, he finally reached into his bag to retrieve a sleeping dr
aught. Zamna’s choices were his own, and Taren decided he would not hold himself responsible. Taking two sips of the deep-amber tincture, he fell asleep within minutes, his dreams no longer haunting him.

  Chapter 11

  Silently in the darkness, Zamna crept along the roads, his feet making no sound against the stones. Approaching the tavern with caution, he observed his surroundings. Not a single person was visible in the streets, and the only sound to be heard was the yowling of a cat in the distance. Moving up to the tavern door, he unwrapped a small set of lock picks that had been stowed in a secret pocket of his leather shirt.

  Sliding a thin metal pick into the lock, he tested the mechanism for its complexity. Grinning, he realized it was a simple lock with only two tumblers. The owner shouldn’t have bothered placing a lock on the door at all. Within seconds, Zamna sprung the lock and stepped quietly inside.

  All was dark except for the remnants of a dying fire in the hearth. Though he did not know which room his quarry had gone to, he distinctly remembered the man climbing the stairs as he and Taren were leaving the establishment. If he had to search each room, he would do it. There was always risk involved in a hired killing, but for fifty gold pieces, it was definitely worth it.

  His graceful movements allowed him to creep silently up the stairs. The wood did not creak below the weight of his well-trained feet. For years he had practiced the skill of moving unseen through the darkness, and tonight he put those skills to good use. This job was no different from the dozens of others he had taken over the years.

  At the top of the steps, he crouched low, focusing his ears on the silence inside the tavern. Pressing one ear against the first door, he listened for the sounds of sleep inside. Cautiously, he turned the handle, opening the door a sliver. With one yellow eye, he peered inside to see a couple asleep in their bed. The man he sought was accompanied by two males, not a female. This was not the right room.

  He crept down the corridor, checking rooms on both sides, but still his target eluded him. Finally, when he came to the fifth door on the right, he heard an interesting sound. His lips curled slightly at the edges as he pressed his ear to the door. Inside was the sound of snoring, and it was coming directly from the other side of the door. Running a scaly hand silently down the wood, he paused when his hand neared the floor. The weight of the occupant inside could easily be felt pressing against the door. This was the room. No other patron of this establishment would have the need for a guard to sleep next to the door. The man knew there was a price on his head, so he had hired someone to bar the door while he slept.

  With quick but silent feet, Zamna moved along the corridor and back down the stairs. Tiptoeing through the common room, he let himself out of the tavern and back onto the street. Finding the city still deserted, he moved casually around the side of the tavern. A row of wooden supports rose up the side of the building near a row of windows. With one last look at his surroundings, he grabbed onto the wood and began to climb. His yellowed claws dug into the wood, helping him to lift his weight into the air until he came to the second floor. Swinging his shortened tail, he leapt through the night air, his claws digging into the wooden frame around the fifth window.

  Waiting to be sure no one had stirred, Zamna lifted the window up an inch. The only sounds inside were those of sleeping men. With the window open half way, the La’kertan flattened himself and crept inside. Three men lay sleeping, one in each cot, the third wrapped in a blanket and propped against the door. He observed the face of the man to his right, only to find he was not the man on the poster. The man on the left, however, matched the portrait perfectly.

  Drawing a dagger from its sheath, he approached the sleeping man, intending to slit his throat. Unbeknownst to him, a series of magical runes had been etched into the floorboard just beside the bed. They had no color or special glow about them. Instead, they blended into the darkness, leaving the La’kertan unaware of their existence. When the claw of his right foot touched lightly on the runes, a flash of green light erupted from the floor. In an instant, he was trapped, unable to move a single muscle. His eyes stuck wide open, and he could only watch as the men awoke and scrambled to their feet.

  “What’s this?” one of them asked, poking a finger at Zamna’s tail.

  “A La’kertan,” the wanted man replied with a grin. “It seems he came to claim the price on my head.” He knelt down next to the still-paralyzed Zamna. “You should have stayed at home.” Flashing his yellowed teeth, he grabbed one of the La’kertan’s arms while his hired guard grabbed the other. Dragging him to his feet, they laughed at his inability to resist. The runes had done a fine job of capturing the hapless assassin.

  Zamna did not know how long the spells effects would last. Unable to speak or move his eyes, he found himself entirely at the mercy of the three men. Was this the same spell Taren had attempted on the spiny hog? Who had cast it? Never before had he tried his skills against a wizard. He might have thought twice had he known one of the men was a mage. With no magic of his own, he did not know a way to protect himself from it, other than staying out of the line of fire.

  One of the men lit a small lantern to light his path and opened the door leading into the hallway. He stepped out to make sure the coast was clear before motioning to the second man. He stepped out as well, while the third man placed a pillowcase over Zamna’s head.

  “Can’t have you seeing where we’re going,” he said with a laugh.

  They lifted him between themselves and slowly made their way down the stairs. Carrying his motionless form into the darkness, they exited the tavern and walked along the streets for some time. Zamna’s sense of direction failed him, and he had no idea where they might be taking him. What good was he as a hostage? He expected them to kill him where he stood, not cart him away to another location.

  The La’kertan landed hard as he was tossed into the back of a wagon. His head still covered, he could not determine what other cargo resided with him. He could feel burlap against his scales, but he could not move a finger to tell what might be inside the sack. The men did not speak for the remainder of the journey. Only the sounds of the horse’s feet and the wheel’s against the stone path found their way to his ears. Eventually the sound of stone gave way to the sound of dirt. That they were heading away from the city was all he could be certain of.

  Zamna began to count, wondering how far away they might take him. If he had any hope of escape, he would need to find the city again once he was loose. When they finally came to a stop, Zamna guessed that they’d traveled for about an hour. In which direction they had gone, he had no way of knowing.

  “He’ll be comin’ around soon,” one of the men said. “Best tie him up.”

  A second man dragged Zamna to the edge of the wagon and secured his hands with rope. Leaving the hood in place, they led him down a system of winding paths. Zamna could feel the effects of the spell finally beginning to wane. He was able to wiggle his fingers and blink his eyes, which brought him a small amount of relief. Soon, he could move his head side to side, and the pressing sensation against his chest disappeared. Coughing a few times, he made sure his voice was intact.

  “Quiet!” one of the men shouted, slapping him against the back of the head.

  Zamna said nothing and continued to walk alongside the man. Without warning, he was turned around and shoved into a chair, the pillowcase lifted from his head. His eyes beheld the inside of a well-lit cave. Through years of human usage, the cave walls no longer had their wet, living surfaces. They were bone dry with rows of lamps affixed at long intervals. A good portion of the floor was covered with water, and rope bridges were suspended between sections of solid ground. Turning his head to each side, he saw stacks of crates and what appeared to be a few different campsites. This cave must be home to a considerable population of criminals.

  “Tell us, reptile,” one of the men began. “Who hired you to kill my friend?”

  Zamna did not reply. A man with two bodyguards alread
y knew that someone had offered a price on his head. What did he need with such information?

  “Who was it?” the man screamed, bringing his face close to the La’kertan.

  Still, Zamna said nothing. If they were going to kill him, they’d have done it already. It was obvious the man had displeased more than one person, causing them to seek his demise. How else could he not know who wanted him dead? In truth, Zamna had no idea who had offered the bounty. All he knew was what was written on the poster he found at the inn. Presumably, that was the place to claim the reward after the man was dead. Zamna was not the sort to ask questions. In his line of work, questions could be more dangerous than the actual killing. Instead, he accepted a job and collected his payment rarely knowing the details of the hit. He wasn’t interested in the politics of the game. All that interested him was the money.

  The man he had intended to kill stepped forward and grinned. With a stroke of his hand, he slapped Zamna’s face, eliciting a hiss in response. The man laughed. “You thought you’d get yourself some easy gold didn’t you?” he asked, still laughing. “No assassin can best me.” Turning to his guards, he said, “Take him to the pit with the other.”

  One guard stepped forward and pulled Zamna’s daggers from their sheaths. Checking his shirt for more weapons, they discovered the lock picks hidden in a small pocket and tossed them in the pile with his daggers. They took his pack as well, tossing it to the side to be gone through later. Then, the two men grabbed him by each arm, forcing him to his feet once again. They led him deeper inside the cave to a poorly lit area where the floor was damp and slick. A metal cage surrounded a low impression in the cave floor, and a single figure stood inside.